


Six Dollars and a Shiny Rock

by blueoleandar93



Series: How To Save The Entire Conceivable Universe and Over Throw Its Leader: a Guide Written by Three Dumbasses and Their Toddler [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breakfast, Brotherly Angst, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Chores, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, The Impala (Supernatural), Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueoleandar93/pseuds/blueoleandar93
Summary: After Billie makes her requests and vanishes, Sam reveals a harrowing secret that will help them complete their next task. The Winchesters complete household chores in preparation for their next hunt. Dean's softness for Castiel keeps slipping out, confusing his devoted angel. Meanwhile, Sam and Jack consider renegotiating an old bet.15x13 Coda // Week 4 // #SpnStayAtHome Prompt: Bet
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: How To Save The Entire Conceivable Universe and Over Throw Its Leader: a Guide Written by Three Dumbasses and Their Toddler [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691902
Comments: 18
Kudos: 101





	Six Dollars and a Shiny Rock

**Author's Note:**

> I have never owned or fixed a car a day in my life. In this fic, I attempt to fix a coolant leak in a classic car. Do with that what you will lol 😂😂

The Winchester family sat in silence at the breakfast table. Billie's sudden absence left an empty space in the room. Each task seemed to come with its various complications, and her newest demand was looking to be no different. 

Jack shrugged and grabbed his fork, taking another bite of his eggs. He accepted Billie's news and moved on, seemingly more concerned about finishing breakfast than he was about plotting to kill his grandfather. Life-altering news had been thrown at him on a consistent basis since birth. That has a way of rearranging one's priorities.

His parents, on the other hand, felt differently. They'd gotten the next step from her: find a secret room. It was unbelievably cryptic. Completely on brand for her, but frustrating none the less. 

Dean slammed his fist on the table, "How are we supposed to find a place that no one's ever friggin been to?"

Jack spoke up, "Billie said Megatron's seen it. Sounds cool. You think if we find him, we'll find some other Transformers too?" The boy gasped in realization, "Maybe there will be a monster truck Transformer. That would be awesome."

"It's _Metatron_ , Jack. He's an angel. Used to be Chuck's scribe." Sam informed, shaking his head in disbelief, "I thought he was a Transformer at first too. Honest mistake."

Dean replied, "Well, Sammy, Jack is three years old. You have a bachelor's degree."

Sam glared, "Shut up."

Castiel chimed in, "Isn't Metatron dead? The last time we saw him, he helped rescued me from Amara's trap with Sam and Donatello. He stayed to fight her off while we escaped. She was furious about losing me and Lucifer. She'd just been betrayed by Dean-- and her brother. I can't imagine Metatron survived her wrath."

"But, what if he did?" Sam's eyes widened, he stood up, pointing his finger in realization, "If he lived, we might be able to pull this off. Finding him, I mean."

Dean dug back into his breakfast, taking a big bite of potatoes and talking around it, "What are you talking about? He's been radio silent for years. Where would we even start to look for him?"

"Guys, listen." Sam patted his hands on the table, "We know Metatron. Okay? Can't trust him as far as we can throw him."

Dean shook his head, still chewing, "I'd punt that little gremlin like a football." He mimed the sound of a small flying object, whistling as his finger did a wide arch.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, continuing, "I, uh, yeah. Whatever. Just... the last time I saw him, I did something. He'd screwed us all over before, so I wanted to be safe. I knew he wouldn't be helping us for long."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, "What did you do?"

"Well, I, sort of..." Sam blushed, looking away. 

Dean folded his arms, "Keep talking."

"I cast a tracking spell on him with _the Book._ " Sam admitted, refusing to give anyone at the table eye contact, head bowed in shame. "I would have told you guys eventually, but I assumed Amara killed him right after I hexed him. Thought there'd be no point in bringing it up. Turns out I was wrong."

"Hexing an adversary in secret?" Dean shook his head slowly as he started to smile, arms still folded across his chest, "Sam Winchester, you witchy little fucker."

Sam shuddered, "Don't call me that."

Dean shrugged, "What? A witch? You are one. Back at it again with the Book of the Damned. Between that and the Black Grimoire, we can barely keep creepy old ancient spells of your hands nowadays. Brother, I like to call spades what they are."

Sam glared, pushing his brother hard in the shoulder.

"Say, how many ingredients did you have to gather to keep tabs on a Fallen angel, huh?" Then, Dean nodded to Cas with a serious look on his face, "And where can I find them?"

Castiel threw a heated glance at Dean from across the table. Jack started to snicker again, chewing merrily. 

"What? I'm kidding. Chill out." Dean smacked Sam's arm, "Come on, Sammy, seriously." He gave his brother a look of concern, "That's got to be a big spell to do on your own. Chasing a celestial down ain't easy -- even with help."

Sam puffed out his chest, "I had it under control."

"Possible kickback from The Book of the Damned? _You_ had that under control? By yourself?"

"Dean--"

"What was going on? How did I miss that? Why didn't you call me?"

"Seriously?" Sam gestured toward the angel at the table, "Cas was in trouble! I was trying to see if I could track him through Lucifer, but Amara was hiding them both. I couldn't cast. That was gonna be it, I swear. By the time Metatron got to the bunker to help us break Cas out, we had a better lead on him anyway." Sam huffed and confessed to the breakfast table before him, "But, I had all the ingredients lying around in the dungeon and the moon was still in its best phase, so I decided to hit Metatron with it instead. That way we could keep an eye on him, you know?"

Dean folded his arms, unimpressed. "Sam. Using a spell from that thing always comes with one hell of a consequence. I know the dark stuff in that book, okay, I lived it. I should have been there. What if something happened?"

"Nothing did! I would have talked to you about it, but you get so weird around magic and you just... we worked so hard to rescue Cas. Then you lost him to the most powerful things we've ever fought. You were all... you know..." Sam made a concerned expression, eyebrows raising in earnest. "And, I tried to take care of it."

Dean felt his eyes wandering over to Cas sitting alive and breathing in front of him for a moment before looking away sharply, "Alright, alright! Jesus, Sam."

"I'm not judging you and I'm not saying what I did was okay. But, come on. You know Metatron. He's burned all of us before! Me, you, Cas! Tell me you wouldn't take any opportunity to be one step ahead of that guy!" Sam folded his arms, sitting back down at the table. "And it looks like knowing his location could actually do some good now, so in conclusion, you're welcome."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably, fork pushing food across the plate as he avoided eye contact.

Dean muttered, "Yeah, thanks, Sabrina Spellman. We are so surprised that you couldn't help standing over a burning cauldron in the dead of night without witnesses when the moon was right. Witch."

"Don't start."

Dean poked Sam in the rib, "Mmm hmm. Sacrifice any virgins lately, Sammy?"

Sam hissed, "I'm not a witch, Dean."

Dean shrugged, "You're doing an awful lot of spell casting lately. And now we find out you've been using the Book behind our backs? For years? I'm just saying. Hogwarts is calling. You gonna answer?"

"No. Leave me alone."

"Yeah, okay. Don't hex me." Dean poked him one more time, turning back to his food and taking a hefty bite. He chewed, enjoying it for a moment before going in for another. He's glad he made this breakfast today. Nothing goes better with harrowing news than a nice hearty buttery greasy American meal. He took a bite of some eggs too. Hot damn. They were delicious. Light axle grease, some almond milk, cilantro, salt, fresh ground pepper, a dash of cheddar cheese. He really wishes Billie didn't snag those extra pancakes. Those were a true masterpiece -- the perfect sugary companion to the other savory dishes.

Dean could wince over the memory. Making those pancakes with Cas. How Cas started them so poorly that Dean had to rescue the batter bowl. How utterly married he felt to this angel, stirring in whatever he could to fix the butchered pancake recipe while Cas grates russets with all of the energy it took him not to start an argument over something so small. Cas had glared into the grater, arms putting on a show as he forced the large potatoes into shreds. Dean remembers not understanding why Cas was even upset. Was it because Sam walked in on them? Was it because Dean denied feeling something when they were close? Was it because they were close at all? All Dean knew was that he messed up.

So, Dean had decided to walk to the stove instead of saying something he might regret. He began making pancakes. He was about five pancakes in when Cas appeared silently at his shoulder with a bowl of shredded potatoes. That spooked Dean so hard he dropped the ladle. Cas laughed, "That brings back memories."

Blue eyes shone through a gummy smile. Dean felt so warm and glowy in his chest. It felt so good, Dean pushed him. Cas pushed him back, sending Dean's heart flying into the counter. The angel set the potatoes down on the counter and picked up the ladle, walking it to the sink and giving it soap and water. Cas washed it. Then he held it hostage and asked to make one pancake. Dammit all, Dean let him. He kept a close watch and walked Cas through every step. The angel gave it a level of concentration usually designated to bomb diffusion. The pancake turned out surprisingly well. Castiel decided to slide it onto Jack's plate under two of Dean's bigger pancakes. Cas wanted their son to have it. Judging from Jack's initial reaction at his first taste, their teamwork paid off.

The freckled hunter glanced up as he ate breakfast, eyes wandering over to the angel as per usual.

When he did, he noticed Castiel was looking a bit sad.

Had been since Billie got here and broke the news. Cas pushed a sausage around his plate and stayed silent while his family ate around him. Dean spoke up, "Hey. Cas, buddy, you okay? Been a little quiet."

Cas's blue eyes flicked up. He looked right into Dean, eyes pleading and upset. Cas said nothing. Then he looked back to his plate. Dean heard him anyway.

"Not too jazzed about working with Metatron again, huh?" Dean asked.

Castiel sighed, stabbing the sausage with his fork. "Considering he made my life a living Hell, stole my grace, orchestrated the Great Fall in my name, and _killed you_... I'd say, yeah. Not 'jazzed'."

"I get it."

"I hate him."

Dean reached over the table and patted his wrist. "If this tracking spell pans out, I'll John Rambo his ass the second we see him. Just for you, okay, baby?"

Castiel continued to push his sausage around the plate. "I would also like to John Rambo him."

Dean shrugged, "Then we'll fuckin both John Rambo the guy. First Blood part II. Problem solved."

Sam started to laugh around a bite of his eggs. "Aww, Dean. How sweet." 

Dean glared at Sam, "Got something to say?"

"Do you?" Sam started to laugh, mocking Dean in a fake flirtatious voice, "I'll beat him up just _for you, okay, baby?"_

Shoot. Must have slipped out again. Dean cursed under his breath. He really needs to get a better hold on that. He pushed Sam's shoulder hard, "Brat! Shut up! You know what?" Dean called out to the ceiling, "Hello?? Demons?? Come get your boy! Return to sender!"

"Sure, call them. Me and Rowena have dinner plans."

"Where? In Diagon Alley with the rest of your witch friends?" 

Jack raised his fork as he chewed on his eggs, plate already half empty, "Dean?"

Dean pushed Sam again, "What's up, kid?"

Jack raised his eyebrows, "What's a 'virgin' and why do witches sacrifice them?"

"Discrimination mostly." Dean started to grin widely. He'd been looking forward to this conversation between Jack and the three of them, he just didn't know it would happen so quickly nor be so closely in line with blood sacrifices. He leaned back in his chair and cackled, patting his knee and gesturing to the angel, "Cas, you wanna take this one? You got more years of experience in this field than any of us -- even though -- I mean, I was the one who brought it up earlier. This _is_ on me. I could--"

"No. Absolutely not you." Castiel shook his head disapprovingly at Dean. "Jack, come back to Sam and I in twelve years."

* * *

After they'd finished their breakfast, they cleared the table. Jack put the empty dishes into the sink. Sam left the room to get what he needed for the tracking spell a short while ago, returning with a small lead lined curse box. The box rattled as he walked with it, a few of it's contents rolling around inside. 

Sam set it on the kitchen table, patting the lead lid, "It's been so long. Haven't opened this since before Jack was born."

Castiel said over his coffee cup, "Did you seal the instructions?"

Dean shrugged, "Knowing Sam, probably."

"Good." Castiel replied.

The Winchesters circled around the box. Jack floated over, standing at Castiel's shoulder as they stared down at it. It was the size of a shoebox. And it might just save the entire world. Dean looked up at Sam, "You sure?"

"Positive," Sam said, slipping a key out of his pocket. He took the tiny lock that kept the latch locked shut and turned the key into it. The lock snapped free. Sam pulled it away from the box, looking up at his family, "Here goes nothin'."

The box opened itself, inside was a small red stone. It was dull and dirty, surrounded by what looked to be green and blue marbles. Dean peered over it, glancing into the box, "Huh. That's it?"

Suddenly the red stone flared to life, soaring out of the box and smacking Dean right in the forehead. "Ah! What the hell, Sam?!" Dean slapped his hand over his forehead as it zoomed around the room.

They watched as the rest of the marbles started to vibrate, lifting gently from the box. The stones carried a disorganized pattern, wobbling in the air. There was a folded piece of paper inside, and Sam opened it, reading through the instructions quickly. He sucked his teeth and groaned. Sam refolded the paper, putting it back in the box.

Jack asked, "What does it say?"

"We need a full moon if we want accuracy." Sam sighed, he pulled his phone out, typing a bit, "And the next one is in... two days."

Dean rubbed his sore forehead, "What happens if we do it now?"

Sam answered, "Whatever just happened to you. Nothing but a bop on the head."

Dean groaned, "How come I'm the one that got hit, Hermoine Granger!?"

Sam started to laugh, "Cuz you stuck your face over a curse box like an idiot." The younger hunter closed the box, locking it back up, "Looks like we got time. What do you guys want to get up to today?"

Castiel spoke up, "The Impala needs an engine check before we do our next long drive. I felt it last night. Something is... amiss."

"I'll handle that." Dean jumped in, still rubbing his forehead, "There's a week's worth of laundry to tackle. Sam, could you jump on it?"

"Sure thing."

Jack added, "And I gotta clean my room. There's feathers everywhere. Maybe I can hang out with Sam after I finish that."

Sam shrugged, picking up the box, "Sounds good to me. Let's do some chores."

Dean made finger guns with his hands, blasting them around the room, "Winchester style."

The three others noticed the round red mark on Dean's forehead between his eyes the moment his hand left his face. Sam and Jack started to laugh at him, doubling over in stitches. Castiel smirked, clearly entertained by it, walked over to Dean with strong intent. His hand was already raised to heal the bruise. Dean grumbled and pushed Cas's fingers out of the way, but Castiel just switched hands. The angel cupped his face, sending some healing grace his way. Dean's forehead glowed blue for a moment and in an instant all of the pain (no matter how minor Dean insists) was gone. 

"Thanks, Cas." Dean grumbled out, leaning into the warm hand holding his face, "I was fine though."

Castiel joined into Sam and Jack's laughter, "Looked like it hurt."

Dean folded his arms and grumbled at them until they shut up.

* * *

Jack was on dish duty after breakfast. It was his favorite chore. Mainly because he is left in the kitchen alone with all of the delicious things Dean makes. Dean does something Sam calls "stress baking" so at any given time, there was a sweet sugar filled confection within reach. 

There was a lemon cake, two mixed berry pies, and a day old batch of chocolate chip cookies sitting on the counter as Jack scrubbed the dishes. 

Dean doesn't have as much faith in himself as a father as he does as a chef. Jack knows. Dean is reactive and grumpy. He can come off cold sometimes. But his food? His food is always warm and well loved.

Jack understood more about why he was this way when he and Cas met. Before Castiel's resurrection, Dean had been cruel and distant and incredibly self destructive. He fought and yelled when he was upright, and he drank and cried when he sat. Jack had wrongly assumed Dean never knew happiness, that he was a stormy cloud and that's all he could be. Then, Castiel came back and that weeping drunk became the sweetest thing Jack had seen in his life. 

Suddenly, Jack was accepted. 

Dean showed Jack kindness and hunted with more purpose, but through it all, Dean stared at Cas. And Cas stared back. From across the room, in the rearview mirror of the Impala, over a mug of coffee, standing, walking, breathing. If they were in the same room, it's like they had to. And Dean would get this soft smile on his lips, but he would never look away. Dean had gotten something precious back. Jack could see Dean's world had sun in it again. Dean was laughing, smiling, hugging Cas whenever he could. They'd talk quietly together in the library or run to the kitchen to have coffee with each other. It was like they were stealing a few minutes of joy with each other and in the smallest ways they could. They were incredibly devoted to their missions -- a duty bound pair. They were always focused on a joint goal, but underneath it was something magnetic that bound them together for eternity. No matter what life throws at them, these two refuse to give up on each other. Why? 

Jack remembered tugging Sam by the sleeve after only hours of it. In a Dodge City motel parking lot, Jack stood by the vending machine and asked if Dean was widowed the day he was born. Sam looked nervous as he pressed. Had Jack's dead father been Dean's husband? Was Dean suffering from the pain of losing his angel all this time?

Sam had patted Jack's shoulder with a large hand and said, "They refuse to talk about it. But basically. They'd been through Hell together and while they were in war, they really saw each other. Things got emotional between them. They got close. Fast. Cas sacrificed himself big to protect Dean and me. Then, he lost his wings and his home. He cut himself off from his family just to be with Dean -- to follow him and fight with him. But things just kept breaking down around us and all we could do was keep saving the world over and over. I don't know. They decided they were going to stay friends and keep their hearts out of it to keep focus. When? Why? I couldn't tell ya. After that their feelings didn't really go anywhere they just... got bigger and quieter. It's just... it's messy now."

Jack asked if they'd ever be together.

Sam had laughed. Jack remembers Sam telling him that if Dean and Cas admitted to feeling anything romantic for each other in the next five years, he'd buy the kid a PlayStation. 

"I have six dollars and a shiny rock." Jack had reached out his hand to shake on it. "Let's make a deal."

"Negotiating with me?" Sam started to smile, shaking his hand to seal the bet in Dodge City, KS. "That's my boy."

Now that Jack's soul is back he sees a lot clearer. 

Jack understands how the Winchesters love now. Unconditionally. They accepted him back as their son. They all held him and picked him up and put him back together. They jumped at the opportunity to be a family again. So, if they've loved once, they'll love always. Jack smiled. Unlike Sam, he truly believed. Dean and Cas will find their way to one another. Things are changing for the better between them. He can feel it.

Jack can't wait. Their family will flourish in time. Even without Dean baking all the time.

He almost whimpered with sadness into the soapy water. Okay. If Jack is being honest, he will miss Dean's desserts now more than ever. Now that he's able to enjoy all the love Dean puts into his food, it would break Jack's heart to not have as many yummy treats in the house.

Jack recalled being soulless. Then, thinking nothing of the pile of pastries that began lining the kitchen counter when he first came back to life. He wasn't tethered to any emotion, nevermind the emotions of others. He didn't notice Dean pacing in the kitchen beside the oven at 2am. All he knew was that there was good food at home. 

Grigori hearts tasted disgusting. Especially raw. They were mushy and gross. Jack just wanted to spit them out. He _had_ to eat them for Billie. But the snacks Dean baked? All of the pies and cakes and cookies Dean produced in his stress? It was the only time he remembered feeling anything. Not emotion, but satisfaction. Choice. Freedom.

Taste. 

That warm, sweet, soft, fresh snacks from the oven that tasted like life. Sugary, syrupy, chocolatey. All delicious in their own right. One day, Dean made salted caramel pudding for everyone. Said it tastes like going to a spa. Jack hopes he's right.

It was a wonder to a soulless nephil. A wonder that food made by someone who loved him could cancel out all those horrible bloody organs he had to choke down. That's all Jack could process without a soul: hearts taste bad, cookies taste good.

Now that Jack is whole again, he sees. 

Dean was worried about letting him in. He approached Jack warily, if at all. Mainly talking to him through Castiel who passed on to Jack when it was time for a family meal. Dean was confident that he could at least do that. After all they'd been through together, he still wanted to make sure Jack ate well. 

Castiel was right. 

There _was_ love in the food. So much love.

Breakfast this morning told Jack what that had happened while he was detached from them. Dean and Cas were closer now, stealing their time alone just as they did when Jack was an infant. Sam was supportive and loving as always, a strong man who guides his family with compassion and a little magic. Things were healing.

Around the time Jack died, they were all at each other's throats. Turns out, their love could weather any storm Chuck wrote for them. Including the last three years. Look at em now. They had all patched things up and gotten closure while Jack waited in the Empty, and they finally felt like a united front again. So, Dean used their bond to guide how he moved forward. Regarding Jack, Dean let him stay because of Castiel. Cas didn't talk to Dean at all before bringing Jack home, but Dean took one look at them and gave the angel what he desired. 

Dean wasn't ready for Jack to be in his house after what they'd been through, but he also wasn't ready to lose Castiel. He played that devil-may-care attitude, but Jack knew it was a lie. He made his decision already, choosing to trust Cas's decisions and letting the angel make moves for their family. He cooked out his frustration in the kitchen. Soulless, Jack couldn't care less why Dean baked so much. Now, it's a different story. 

Jack felt sick thinking about the pain he caused his parents. But Dean and Castiel had a long talk with him last night -- a real conversation -- and the two agreed they were Team Jack. Having the love of his family meant the world to him, and acceptance from Dean made his soul feel so bright and happy. Jack felt something fall down the back of his robe. That would be his feathers. Great. There are more every hour. How many would fall until he's done growing?

As the boy stirred up the soap with his hands, he played in it a little.

Distracted, Jack made a tall cone of white bubbles and gave it a nice karate chop. It fell over with a slow, unceremonious plopping sound. Fun! He must do it again. Jack laughed to himself, making several piles of soap and pushing them into the water below. He splashed and splashed. His hands patted at the water and the soap beneath.

Jack likes doing dishes.

Sam walked into the kitchen, looking for his son. He found the toddler splashing about joyously in the sink instead of cleaning much of anything. It was sweet, if not extremely messy. Sam's gonna have to mop in here. That's fine. His kid is finally a kid again. He'll take the clean up if that means Jack can feel happiness again. He didn't know what kind of blessing that had been.

Jack made the biggest cone he could, constructing it from all the bubbles available. It was going to be so big. Huge. 

Sam spoke up from the doorway, "Good job on those plates, Jack."

Jack made a bubble ball, lathering up the soap and sticking it to his nose, "Look, Sam. I'm a clown."

Sam winced, looking away quickly and waving his hand in front of his face. "Oh! Haha. That's... that's uh... that's cool."

Jack tilted his head to the side in a way that reminded Sam of his best friend Cas. The bubbles slipped off of the nephil's nose and onto his shirt, "Oh, right. You don't like those. Sorry, Dad."

Sam shook his head and wandered into the kitchen with a laugh, "It's okay. Good lather work."

Jack smiled at the soapy water, picking up a pot and a sponge to clean, "Thanks. How's laundry?"

Sam shrugged, "Everything is in the wash. I might need help folding everything if you're up for it. I'll give you five bucks."

Jack rinsed the soapy pot out and placed it onto a drying rack, "Nice."

Sam smiled, watching his son wash the dishes, "Yeah. Also, just a heads up, I'd stay out of the garage. At least until noon."

"What's wrong with the garage?"

"Nothing. It's just... Dean and Cas are in there fixing the car. Alone." Sam said, folding his arms over his chest. "Now that you're back home safe, and we have a real shot against Chuck, and they've made up... something might happen. You know? Between them. And when it does, we'll be here. Happy for em. Supportive. From several doors down the hall, so that we don't see or hear anything that would scar us for life."

Jack smiled, looking over his shoulder at his father, "Hey. Cas told me he loved Dean yesterday."

Sam's jaw dropped, "Seriously? He said it? Said the words?"

Jack nodded brightly, standing in a pile of his own feathers, "Almost. I asked him if he did and he got mad and told me not to repeat it, so I'm right. Then I told Cas to go talk to Dean, and they talked and they left the house really late to watch the stars together! I thought for sure we'd have news, but they don't really seem too different. Cas is just... shy, I guess. He has his reasons, but true love always wins in the end. Right?"

Sam gave his son a fond look, "That's right. But, speaking of winning... since I'm getting some new information here, I'm bumping up our bet."

"You can't do that."

"Yeah, I can. You just gotta hear out the terms. You never know, maybe this'll sound even better."

The nephil reminded his father flatly, "Dad, you said if they got together before I turned five, you'd buy me a PlayStation."

"Jack."

"I'm three, and you saw them at breakfast." Jack replied, "So, I want the Spiderman game, Apex, Red Dead 2, Assassin's Creed--"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Alright, alright! Let's just scale back a bit. They're taking late night trips and now Dean's calling him 'baby' and... what I walked in on after my run was... let's just say, the bet's not looking too hot on my end."

Jack started to smile as he scrubbed a plate, feathers drifting down his back, "Once again. I want the Spiderman game, Apex, Red Dead--"

"Well, Jack, a lot is going on right now."

"You mean, you're worried you'll lose?"

Sam scoffed, hands in his pockets as he grumbled out, "Not worried. Concerned."

"What, that they're going too fast? They've been doing this for eleven years." Jack explained, "I've never lived through eleven years, but I can grasp that its a long period of time. If they're cracking, it's understandable."

"Jack, Dean has a lot of stuff going on internally. Tends to keep things inside for what feels like forever. How he feels about Cas is one of those things he locks up about. Is it unhealthy? Yes. But, that's why I thought we'd have more time." 

Jack turned around, "Cas said something similar about himself last night."

"Jesus Christ, they're idiots."

"I know." Jack moved back to the dishes with a smile on his face, "So, I vote to keep our bet in place."

Sam chuckled, "You really want a PS4, huh?"

" _Need_ a PS4, Sam. _Need_."

* * *

"Hey, Cas! Yeah. We got a coolant leak. It was less than an hour up the road from making a smoke show on us. Thanks for the heads up, man." 

"No problem, Dean."

"Wanna pitch in? Maybe learn a little something?"

Castiel admired the human, bent over the hood of the Impala in his washer worm Levi's. His butt looked rather cute in those jeans. Firm and round, toned but still soft to the touch. As long as Dean was standing like that, Castiel would never willfully leave this garage again. "Of course."

"Good." Dean grunted, hands checking off each piece of machinery under the hood. "Listen close. When you got a leak like this, you gotta stop it from hitting the engine. Car's on, engine gets hot, burns this greasy shit up, causing the engine to overheat. And if you check the level of... yeah. I can see it from here. We're running low. Damnit."

Castiel's head began to tilt as he watched Dean tinker around under there with fondness in his eyes. His grace flowed through him, warm and floating in his vessel. "What are you running low on?"

Dean complained loudly, "Coolant, Cas! It got all over the engine. Listen."

Castiel's eyes rolled back for a second. Oof. He always been attracted to that aggravated, snappy side of Dean. Rarely is Castiel hissed at by such a grumpy little powerless human. Dean is different though. He's always annoyed, always whining, always tired of everybody's attitude. It's adorable to the angel. But when he growls an order at Cas with that sharp cut tone to his voice? Let's just say that Dean could put his angel in his place, and get away with it.

They'd barely set foot in the garage for a moment before Dean turned all of his focus to the car, an angel at his heels. The hunter became a man on a mission. He clapped his hands and walked straight down the line, past all of the classic 40's cars and cycles left by the Men of Letters. He had one goal in mind: getting Baby back to mint. He always got a little anxious when his car wasn't running right. That's why Castiel kept the information to himself. At least until breakfast was over. He wanted to let Dean have one nice family meal before he started to fret over anything. 

Now that they have time, he's fixing the Impala. Heck, even better, he's letting Cas watch. And, boy! What a sight to behold. If any angel asked Castiel what the most beautiful image he's ever seen on Earth was, he would say: Dean Winchester, sans flannel, bent over the hood of his car. 

Castiel's eyes trailed down the back of Dean's tee shirt. He should really pay more attention when they fix the Impala together. They've had several of these lessons over the years, but Castiel's cars have since broken down on the road more times than you can count. Once while they were looking for Sam when Gadreel took him on a joyride. Once again as he ran away with Kelly Kline. And countless times in between. But every time Dean drags Cas beside the Impala for one of his impromptu car maintenance lessons, Dean tends to do this thing where he... barks orders... and wears less clothing... and then he reaches for the perfect angle deep into the car... while that's happening... Cas's brain... tends... to get... wow... now, _that's_ a pair of jeans.

Dean leaned in a bit further as he surveyed the hood, "Okay! Okay, that's not too bad. No problem. We're gonna be able to fix this quick. Pass me the coolant. And we gotta replace the head gasket after that. It popped loose. It's cracked. Check the tool box for another one."

There were no thoughts in Castiel's head nor did his ears work. He continued to watch the man work. 

"Hey, Cas, did you hear me--" Dean turned his head from under the hood and glared at Castiel. "Um, hello?"

Cas looked Dean in the eyes, "Pardon?"

"Did I just catch you staring at my ass?"

"Yes." Castiel answered honestly, without a hint of contrition. He was, he'll admit to that. Dean had a lovely ass. 

Dean turned away and cleared his throat, "Oh. Well... uh, _why_?"

Castiel pointed to his friend's butt, "It was there. You look so lovely while you work, I couldn't help myself. If my gaze makes you feel uncomfortable I can look elsewhere."

"Whatever. Get me the coolant and a new gasket." Dean said sharply. "Peeper."

"Which gasket?"

"Are you serious?"

"Quite."

"Come on, Cas, were you paying any attention to anything I said? Just bring me as many as you can!" Dean hissed.

"Are you angry?"

Dean continued to yell. "No! I'm not mad at you, baby, just bring me the coolant! And ten of your closest guesses to what you _think_ a gasket is!"

He wandered away over to the big tool box. "Fine."

Castiel is resolutely not a _baby_. Jack is a baby. Cas is an angel. He's big. He's strong. He's powerful. He's lived for thousands of years. Baby? Baby?? What an insult! Dean's barely even forty, the nerve of that absolute child!

He stormed past the aisle of cars. Chevrolet, Cadillac, Chrysler, Dodge. Firetruck reds, jet blacks, midnight blues. All makes and models on display for men who died years ago. Most of these cars would take months of repair before they could hit the asphalt. They'd been sitting untouched for so long that restoring them to their former glory would have to be a passion project -- each one expensive and time consuming. Dean said he would just start with one car, but he'd have too much fun and have to finish them all. Besides, restoring cars in between hunts was too physically taxing on his back and hands. He said he'd have to pick between the hobby and his job. No contest apparently. As long as he can save lives, the cars will have to wait.

Someday, Dean might restore them. At least that's what Sam and Cas hope. If they stop Chuck and get him to free them, they might find peace. Enough peace for Dean to have a few months, maybe even a year, off soon. Then he can spend that time in the garage, fixing everything so that their engines hummed the way he liked it. They'd look phenomenal. Then Dean could sell them to a museum, donate them to a charity, or just ride them down the Kansas back roads with his family in tow. 

Maybe if they keep some of them, Dean will take Cas on a drive to see the stars again. Maybe he'll look into his eyes and smile that meteor smile and they could just enjoy each other in the still of the night, their family sleeping miles away. Maybe Dean will kiss his cheek again and he'll blush and he'll hold his hand. Maybe they'd spend a few hours in each other's arms again, this time laying under constellations and breathing in their air with no distractions. Nowhere to go, no one to fight, nothing to do but lay on a classic car under the moonlight and be in love. Castiel smiled to himself, feeling his grace flare with warmth at the memory. 

Those moments are so rare, but they're real to Cas. They do happen, these moments. They exist scattered along their history. Nights where emotions were running high and Dean needed to feel _something_ with his angel, but not too much. They'd slip away somewhere. Even if they just sat an old unused room in the bunker for a glass and conversation, or picked a trail to walk through at a park, or went on a drive up the road a few miles just to circle back, they've even claimed a corner of the library after midnight if Dean was too sleepy to go too far. They'd talk deeply. Their fingers would brush and their hearts would beat hard together like twin drums. Castiel would look into Dean's eyes and want to confess it all. Every now and then, Dean reads it in his stare and he leans in. 

Dean usually only has the courage to touch Cas like this when he's drunk. Sometimes he will rub their noses together and push Cas away with a big beautiful laugh. Sometimes he leaves a kiss on Castiel's forehead, his cheekbone, his ear. Then, he would quickly say it was late and he should head to bed, signalling to Castiel that he doesn't want to talk about it. That quickly, Dean's hands were pulling away from the angel and those perfect lips were gone from his skin. That quickly, Dean would ignore what could have happened between them and move on. 

Dean always left Cas wanting more. Something that's real, concrete, and blissfully romantic. They get so close sometimes. A hug or a quick embrace, and Dean would slip into his space and press a kiss to his forehead or his cheek. Cas's grace would swirl around under his skin. After that, Castiel usually gets a slap on the shoulder and a "goodnight buddy" before Dean goes off to sleep alone. Another night of Red Light, Green Light.

A part of Cas wishes he weren't a coward -- that he was brave enough to make his own moves. He could have tilted his face a bit last night, just a little to the left, when Dean kissed his cheek. And their night would have ended differently than all the other nights would. 

Now, with the Empty hanging over his shoulder like a grim cloud, Castiel almost fears the possibility of Dean in his life. He'd been fighting for the concept of love, families, and free will for so long. Everything is personal now. Castiel found a family where he is loved and truly belongs. He is currently fighting the most extreme case for free will in existence. But what of love? 

Kissing Dean and losing him would break Cas's heart. But, if Dean truly loves him, that could break him too. Quite literally.

Castiel opened the thick metal drawer of the tool box. He took a few handfulls of gaskets and shoved them into each coat pocket. Closing the drawer, he reached over to the hulking wooden shelf beside the tool box. It was covered in car repair equipment. Including the coolant. He grabbed the blue Peak antifreeze and turned back to the Impala. 

By the time Cas had returned from the tool box Dean already found that red thingy with the long black nose to help pour the coolant into the car. His biceps and hands were covered with streaks of grease. And there was one long streak on his forehead right above his brow. He must have checked the oil. He had a black stained towel in his hands. Christ, is he flexing?

Castiel dropped a gasket. It slipped right from his pocket.

He hoped the oil was broken too. Absolutely ruined! And that it would take at least two hours to fix.

Dean watched the gasket roll on the floor and started to laugh, "Yeah, that's definitely the wrong one."

Castiel handed Dean the coolant, "I have twelve in my pocket."

"Good odds, angel." Dean took the coolant over to the red thing -- Castiel blinked slowly. 

Dean started pouring something into the car. Gorgeous. So smart. Look at him. Wow. Wiping something from the engine. A beauty. Talking about something. Bending low. Oh. Dean reached into the car again. Gosh, he was _really_ talking about something. Cas couldn't focus. About five minutes in, Dean turned around, "Hey?"

Castiel nodded, "Yes. Of course. Whatever you want."

"Exactly what I'm friggin saying! In Through The Out Door is way too underrated! It's not their best album ever, but man. People gloss right over it. Half of it's on your mixtape. I mean, what do you think?"

"No, I... it's 'iconic'." Castiel blinked again. When did he start talking about music? Actually, the real question is how long was Cas staring at Dean's butt? That has to be a new record.

"Knew it." Dean smiled widely, grinning up at the angel, "It's like I just read your mind."

Cas felt a bit guilty for missing what Dean said. But he couldn't help but smile back, because he still understood. Castiel Fell for this enthusiasm. This voice. This mind. This man. He was still just as righteous as he was when they met. Even if Cas wandered away sometimes, he always finds his way back to him. "You tend to do that."

Dean nodded, blushing and turning back to the car, "You, uh... you got them gaskets?"

Castiel pulled about four from his pocket, "Any of these look right?"

"Let's see what we got." Dean said as he turned to Castiel, looking into Castiel's hands and checking the gaskets, "Yeah, the bigger one in your left hand with the T on it. That'll be her."

Castiel pushed his right hand into his pocket to get rid of those gaskets. Dean walked into his space. Castiel watched as Dean approached him with a playful smile and a confident posture.

He's doing something. Oh, no. Not this. Cas hates this. Why is Dean doing this? 

Sometimes Dean tests Cas. He fishes for something and then he snatches his pole out of the water just when Cas is ready to bite. It's diabolical. It's awful. It's downright evil. Why is he in such a mood?

Tongue resting gently between his sharp teeth, Dean grinned sweetly as he stepped into Castiel's space and plucked the gasket out of his hand. He held it up between two perfect fingers. Then he winked. "Thanks for being quick with that tool box."

_Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!_ Castiel thought to himself. He screeched silently in his mind. This feeling was best described in the celestial language of seizure inducing screams. Best keep that in.

Being stern was imperative. It was everything. A method of survival.

Speaking to Dean when he's like this is much like being approached by a large bear or an unpredictable dinosaur. If Cas just stands still and gives him nothing, Dean will eventually stop teasing him.

"Of course." Castiel answered calmly. 

Dean looked him up and down as if he didn't believe him. He's praying now. No words, just that feeling. That longing, tugging pull. It felt like a whispering breath against his ear, a hand running up his chest, fingers in his hair. That son of a bitch. Dean settled on Castiel's eyes, "That's what I like to hear." 

_Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!_

Castiel replied, "It does help one to focus."

Dean finally closed his mouth, but his eyes were ripping him apart. "Depends on what your focusing on."

_Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!_

"Fixing the car."

"Bullshit, I was talking about Freddie Mercury and you agreed with me over Zeppelin. And I caught you... twice. Tell me, Cas." Dean said, a bright smile taking over his face again even as he fought it. "We've been through this again and again and you've never fixed your own car. Ever. In your life. Do you even want to learn how to do this?"

"Yes."

"Why? You've been through six cars already and you've only been driving for a couple of years. Half of them, you just abandoned when the check engine light came on." Dean poked Cas challengingly in the chest. "You once called me, stranded on the side of the road and you were just out of gas." Dean shook his head, gesturing to the open hood. "Cas. You don't care about any of this."

"You do."

Dean stopped. He gave Castiel a long, searching look. Their breathing slowed and they just stared for a moment. The moment hummed between the two of them as a quiet frequency. Cas wishes he caught himself. Those two words he allowed himself to speak felt like way too much. Dean understood him. Dean heard him. And whatever Dean was thinking was right. 

Cas didn't care about coolant or engines or gaskets. He just knows when something is broken and needs fixing. Dean cares. He loves cars and reconstructing and restoring and fine tuning. He has an eye for mechanics and engineering, a mind that can take things apart and then put them back together again piece by piece. 

What Castiel uses grace to heal, Dean sews together with his hands. That concept will always be foreign to Cas. But it's beautiful in its own way. 

So, the angel will sit through his various human lessons. He'll sit through a hundred -- a thousand. The schooling might not take all of the time, but Cas will watch and admire and help when needed. Sometimes they even make a great team like they did this morning cooking breakfast. It took a minute to find their rhythm, but Jack and Sam sung their praises as they feasted. It worked. 

They worked.

Gosh, what were they doing?

Dean was here. He's right in here front of him, all soulful and human and covered in grease. Dean knows. Everything. He understands. Love. Oh, love.

Screw it.

Cas is going to kiss him. He's going to grab Dean by his pretty face and fucking kiss him. No more waiting. No more Mr. Gentleman Cas. He's going to go for it right now. 

"Hey!" Dean pushed Cas's shoulder back boyishly before the angel could move, tilting his head toward the car before heading back to the hood, "Watch close this time, baby."

Okay, not now. Cas sighed, putting the rest of the gaskets into his left pocket. Watching close was definitely an order he could follow. 


End file.
